


Apeiros

by hitchhikingbabeh



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2020-05-12 11:52:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19228615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitchhikingbabeh/pseuds/hitchhikingbabeh





	Apeiros

> _[i](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DqvvDjDhVs3E&t=MDM3NjYyZTllNGRlMDM3MzkzZGJmMzIyYjExMjhjNjc1NTYxNDVmZixYcUN0RWdsSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F151685673318%2Fapeiros-m&m=1) only wanted to use you_

It’s Saturday night and you are beaten, bloody and thirsty for some very alcoholic vodka and other shit you’d rather not think too much about.

This city is absolutely merciless, especially since the vampires downtown have gotten more active. And you don’t have a problem with those three in the least, but they sure as hell are bringing in a lot of weird shit to your otherwise impeccably safe territory.

Some of them which you just had to put down for terrorising a group of teens that were too dumb to realise the difference between harmless fae and very very un-harmless Erlking.

You suppose you can’t blame them for being uneducated.

A lot of new bars and clubs have been popping up in town, and you find yourself in front of the newest one almost without wanting to. Usually on nights like these you’d rather go to  _Eros_ because it’s one of two places in the entire city where you don’t have to worry about keeping your guard up, but your curiosity mixes very well with your anxious limbs. So you join the short queue to get into this new  _Bucca_  bar with a surprisingly eager disposition.

And damn it all, you sure are glad you did.

The bouncer alone is gorgeous. He’s got the eyes and the grin of a bobcat, and the way his eyebrows move when he glances up from your ID (and you’re totally flattered by the fact that he asked for it) makes you giddier.

“The ones with baby faces are always a bit confusing, you know,” he tells you as you take back the plastic, and you don’t realise you hold his stare until he grins wider. “Happy birthday.”

Oh, right. You almost forgot about that.

He doesn’t make a comment about you being alone, which you’re quite grateful for, and you pass through the giant coal coloured threshold and smile because this is…

Exactly what you needed on a night like this.

The crazies that roam around your turf can be split into three categories. The mild crazies, like the fae and the merpeople on the coast and the nymphs, which will only attack when provoked; the medium crazies, like the druids and the necromancers and the ghouls, which will attack if given the chance; and the hot crazies, like the vamps, the witches, the half-men/half-women, the reanimated and other royal pains in the ass that ascended from Hell itself to spite the earth for no particular reason.

And you see at least one member every single hot crazy clan in the thick of the dance floor. Hard not to, with the glint of the powder blue eyes of the vamps and the thick heat radiating off the wolves, how the strobe lights catch the wild red hair of the foxes, the blue-ish tattoos on the witches.

Thing is, though… there’s nothing quite like a party with the hot crazies. So you figure you can take off the hunter mask, you can lay off the murderous gaze and take the night off. It’s your birthday, anyway. For all you know, the dried blood on your dark denim skirt can pass off as edgy, and you’re pretty sure your last hunt was clean enough to keep your boots, your long tank top and your leather jacket stench and stain free.

You’re a bit of a freak when it comes to the hygiene required to hide your profession from the common populace. It comes with the job.

When you approach the bar, though, you realise stripping off of your duty might be a bit difficult.

The bartender is hot. His skin is a light gold and it shines under this lighting, catches on his dark brown hair, pushed up and parted to the side. His eyes are big and dreamy and an impossible shade of silver, and holy fuck, the mouth on him. It’s got that just-bitten look, and the sight of his pearly white teeth grazing the plump skin just before he catches your eyes makes you smile. He notices that you know what he is in seconds, and surprisingly enough, it only makes him grin.

“Fancy meeting a human out here,” he says, inching closer to you just as you rest your arms on the bar top. “Not a lot of you are brave enough to stroll in like that. Hunter?”

“Just give me a drink. Whatever will get me fucked up enough to forget how much I hate all of you,” you don’t mean to sound that cruel and he knows, which is why he laughs.

You did always have a weakness for a handsome demon.

“I heard it’s your birthday,” he says as he pulls out a tall clean glass.

“How?”

He tilts his chin towards the bouncer and confirms your name, which makes your face contort into one of further confusion. He shrugs. “I have good ears.”

Actually, now that you really look, his ears are huge. And pointy. Demons don’t usually have ears like that; they’re usually small and don’t work all that well. They rely on their honed sense of smell, or sight.

“Are you the kind that turn to dust if you go underwater?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he doesn’t miss a step, “never been near the ocean.”

What?

“What are you?”

The handsome stranger shrugs again, this time with a smile, “I’ll just say I’m half-human. Can’t give everything away right away, huntress.” And then there’s nothing you can do but watch as he mixes pale liquid with vodka and vermouth and a tiny splash of bourbon.

“At least give me your name,” the way your voice sounds betrays you, it actually gives the impression that you… care. “Since you already know mine.”

“Chanyeol,” he says, placing the finished drink in front of you. It’s garnished with tropical fruit and it looks very pretty, you’re sure he can tell how pleasantly surprised you are when you look back up to his starry eyes. “That’ll be on the house. Happy birthday.”

“… thank you?” you don’t like to owe people, you still feel like you should at least tip him.

“Don’t look so guilty,” he chuckles, pushing the glass closer to you, “make it up to me by sticking around. You might like what happens here after midnight.”

It’s about ten minutes until midnight, and you wonder if whatever he’s talking about is the reason why you see such few humans crawling about.

You don’t have time to ask, because he disappears just after you look up from your first sip. The drink is mighty fine, and it’s half the reason why you don’t mind that you’re alone as you take sip after sip.

Something’s off, though, because you’re craving… more. Not of this, at least not just of this. The music playing is heavy, it somehow manages to intensify the headiness of your drink. For a moment you consider calling someone to join you, but a second thought tells you that Hyeoyeon is probably still asleep or otherwise entertained with other things because she already did more than enough to celebrate your birthday last night.

Living with a nymph isn’t easy, but it sure as fuck is fun.

Your drink is done just as the lights in the club all dim, and the music fades out to confirm that whatever it is you’ve been waiting for is about to happen.

There is no way you could have ever been prepared.

Now that you’re properly looking, there’s a stage by the DJ booth. It looks like it’d fit ten people comfortably, but you’re pretty certain that’s not what you’ll be seeing as three figures step onto it.

The first is male. He’s lithe but wide at the chest, with jet black hair parted at the middle and a very sad excuse for a shirt made of silk and completely unbuttoned, exposing taut abs and splendid pectorals. He’s wearing slacks that fit him almost too snugly, enough to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination but filth and want. His face is small and beautiful, and he licks his them and it’s sinful, though the mark at the corner of his mouth distracts you completely and makes you think he reminds you oddly of a newborn puppy.

The second is also male, with brown hair and dark golden skin and pursed lips, and he’s wearing matching slacks but didn’t bother with a shirt. This one has a longer build, muscular at the arms and the kind of thighs you’ve only ever seen in your dreams. Not that you really want to get into those.

Dangerous thing to do, around incubi like those two.

The final silhouette is female. And you don’t think you’ve ever laid eyes on someone so stunning, or so lethal. Her hair is short, a light brown that tickles the crook of her neck. Her eyes are feline but large, deep set and a shade of green that is almost startling. Everything about her expression screams innocence, the kind that would inspire child-like ignorance and you envy her, you envy her and you want her and her lusciously pink mouth and swollen and  _gorgeous_.

And then she starts to dance. They all start to dance, and you decide that you want to forget. Forget everything. Why you hunt, where you hunt, who you are and where you came from, what led you here.

Now, you just want to be here. You just want to watch as the succubus and her companions move to a slow, wound down [b](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DbUCuiv1rYP0&t=ZDRkZmZjNzJhNWUyNDkwYTY3NjE3MzQ4ZTc0M2E1MTZhZTI1MzZkZSxYcUN0RWdsSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F151685673318%2Fapeiros-m&m=1)eat that has you swaying, and something thick forms around you as the slimmer male finally takes off his shirt to match the other one, how the gorgeous young woman titillates, tugs at the strings of your less pure thoughts with a mix of the appeal of cluelessness and the complete opposite, until she reveals the hot pants and the bralette under her frilly black dress.

That’s when you actually take your eyes off the trio long enough to notice the glint of the metal poles as the strobe lights swipe past them, and you think this might be your favourite birthday yet. You find that you’re glad you’re alone, you’re glad that no one you know can see the way you’re looking at this girl and at those two boys, that no one can call you out on what you’re sure everyone sees in your eyes right now. Anyone who braves a look at your face, anyway.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You guess the very thought is what jinxes your luck. The pair of arms that circle your hips are not unwelcome nor are they unknown, and neither is the deep voice that comes out of the pair of lips currently brushing your ear.

He must be on break or something.

“Very much,” you don’t need to raise your voice much because you know he can hear you, you think you know what kind of demon he is now.

“I’m glad,” he chuckles, and it reaches the deepest layer of your body and makes you tremble, “have I helped you forget yet?”

“Maybe.”

He brings up a hand and only then do you realise it’s a refill of your drink, and you try to turn your head to look at him, but his arms tighten around you and his face presses against your cheeks to keep your gaze forward.

“Do you like my sister?”

You grin and take a sip of your drink, watching as she twirls on the pole, how the light catches her small limbs and her pale skin, how it catches on her too bright eyes. “Are you jealous?”

“I hate the way you look at her.”

You can’t help but laugh, and for a moment you wish Chanyeol were up there with her. You know you won’t say it but that would make your entire evening just perfect. But you’d hate to admit anything to him.

“It’s not just my ears that work very well, dear,” he’s in your ear again, “I can smell the want on your skin.”

“How would you know what I want?”

“Our kind, we can’t seduce someone who’s not already attracted to us.”

“Is that what you’re trying to do? Seduce me?”

He hums, low and raspy and it reverberates inside you. “Please you,” he corrects, “spoil you rotten, if you’ll let me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know yet,” he sways you lightly, just as the boys on stage suck marks onto the pearly skin of the young lady’s neck, “but I’m dying to find out.”

“I don’t do this,” you say quickly, but your voice is too venal to be assertive, “I’m a hunter, I don’t do this with your kind of people.” It’s not convincing, even to yourself, and you try to ignore how your heart rate kicks up in response to how his hands drift lower under your belly button, how he uses the pause to slide you closer to him.

He doesn’t think you know you’ve started to pant.

You don’t see it but you’re sure Chanyeol is grinning again. “It’s hard to ignore how much you want this. Do you expect me to just stand here and watch the impulse brimming?”

Words are starting to fail you, the song is fading out into something else and you’re too aware of the heat of his skin and his breathing on your neck now that the lights are flickering, now that you can’t see the gorgeous woman. There’s throbbing between your temples and between your legs, an itch for touch in your chest and the back of your neck, your eyes feel dry but you don’t want to blink, you wonder if you’ve lost your mind and at the same time it feels like you’re too sane right now.

You basically chug the rest of your drink and move to step away from his embrace, and he lets you go surprisingly easily. You don’t want to turn around to confirm that he’s finally discouraged, you don’t want to know if he’s looking at you like you’ll come crawling back to him.

Thank fuck for your self-control.

And for the familiar face you see at the far end of the bar.

“Is this a mirage?” it’s not a rare sight, the smirk of Do Kyungsoo, at least not to you, “am I seeing right? What the fuck are you doing here?”

You may or may not have saved his life. Not once, not twice, but three times.

Only because he saved yours an equal amount of times.

He’s pretty much the only vampire you like. And it’s not just because of his perfectly structured face, his thick eyebrows or his extra pillowy mouth. It’s not the way his back looks when he’s wearing fitted shirts, like he is right now, and it’s not the way his ultra sharp canines glint in the light when he smiles all too knowingly at you.

There’s… other stuff involved that you’d rather not get into on the early hours after your birthday.

“Oh shit!” it’s like he can read it in your eyes, “are you here for your birthday? Can I buy you a drink?”

“No, thanks, I think I’m okay—  ”

“Something else, then?” you recognize some of his coven around him, among them Shin Hoseok, and you try not to gulp too harshly as he takes a step closer to you.

It’s like life has decided to deliver all the punches it hasn’t these past few weeks in the span of a couple hours, fuck.

Kyungsoo’s still walking towards you, his thumb going up to his lips and between his cuspids until he’s close enough to touch you and his free hand goes under your jaw.

“You’ll thank me later,” he coos, and you can see the blood staining his lower teeth before he swipes his tongue once across the wound he bit into his finger.

“Don’t,” you begin, but he’s locked eyes with you and he’s doing it, he’s doing the thing where you do whatever he wants because he knows you want it, he reminds you that he always knows what you want even if you don’t. Your lips part when his thumb touches them, and he presses it against the tip of your tongue just until you get a taste for it.

This whole vampire blood thing is your absolute worst habit.

But it’s your fucking birthday.

There’s no preamble, no buzz in your body like there is when you drink, no haziness in your head like there is when you smoke. There is only you before, and you after.

You quite like the you after just a drop of this. And it’s never over a drop, that’s why Kyungsoo always licks the wound before offering. Though you can’t say this was exactly polite, he knows you’re grateful as he watches your eyes flutter shut, the rest of the air in your tense lungs come out through your nose, he can feel it when your tongue swipes up his thumb before you suck lightly and you look sinfully angelic.

And then, he is very rudely interrupted.

You outright groan when you feel the hands at your shoulders pulling you away from Kyungsoo, you’re not ready even when you open your eyes and see Chanyeol’s gigantic eyes filled with concern and a little bit of fear. You laugh instantly, because your body is so much lighter, so much more sensitive to the way his jaw clenches as he spares Kyungsoo a glance. It’s obvious they know each other and it’s obvious Chanyeol can’t see your connection to the shorter male and you’re so delighted by it all.

Still, you’re not a fan of the insecurity in the tall young man. So you look back into Kyungsoo’s eyes, just till he can read the words of gratitude in your thoughts, and then he walks away. And you return to the pointy eared boy and you smile wider.

“Are you okay? That stuff gets you crazy high, do you want me to get you some water?” his tone doesn’t fit him, he’s really worried, like he forgot you’re a hunter, like he forgot you’re old enough to know the effects of most supernatural shit… like he forgot he’s half-incubi, too. So you start to laugh, and he looks even more offended.

You can’t believe you have to rise to the tips of your toes to catch his lips, but it makes you feel warmer and fuzzier than it should. “You’re cute.”

He sure as hell does not seem to think he’s cute, especially with the way he finally comes back to, realises who you are, where you are, and grabs you by the shoulders none too gently as he kisses you back. “You scared me,” he says just before his eyes flutter closed, “you scared me.”

“That’s adorable,” you can’t help the condescending edge to your voice, can’t help the giggle that comes out as he pushes you past the bar, past the back doors till he has you pressed against the cold brick walls outside the bar. “You’re so cute.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” he breathes before he kisses you again, and you really like the way his hipbones press into your skin, “are you okay?”

“Mm,” you grab the collar of his black v-neck and realise you hadn’t noticed how pretty the sliver of exposed chest is, “I’m not okay at all.”

“What’s wrong?”

“So many things,” your voice sounds more pitiful than you intend it to but you don’t care, and you want to smile at the way Chanyeol’s eyes widen when he notices you furrowed eyebrows and pouty mouth. “I came here to get drunk but I’ve caught myself wanting a demon to take me home. Isn’t that terrible?”

Vampire blood makes you a little dramatic, but you think Chanyeol likes it. “Terrible.”

“And even if I don’t tell him,” you go on, face returning back to the usual lazy smirk, “he’ll just show up in my dreams because he’s that kind of thing that comes to haunt your dreams.”

“I highly doubt what I’ll be doing can be called haunting.”

“What if I think of your sister? Will she come? What’s her name?”

“Heeyeon, and let’s not talk about her, hm?”

“How does it work, anyway? Can you only come to my dreams?”

“I’ll come wherever you want me to,” he smiles and smooches your lips and it’s almost chaste, “however many times you want me to.”

He expects it when you grin, mirrors it, too.

“Now. Anywhere, now.”

You were just really tired of not giving in.

Mostly because you don’t, usually.

You don’t let anyone strip you bare like Chanyeol is doing right now, you don’t let anyone rush you into tiny supply closets that are thick with chill, you wouldn’t lock yourself up in this sad excuse for an office with anyone.

But you aren’t dealing with just anyone.

He’s hot as hell, not in body or visual but actually in temperature, and you feel the moisture of his skin seep into your own when he maneuvers you over the office desk. Your skirt is too short and he hates it, hates that he caught so many people looking at your pretty legs back inside, so it’s the first thing his hands go under after you’ve sat up on the glass to catch his lips.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he mutters as you pull the hem of his t-shirt over his head, and his hands land on your cheeks so he can breathe you in, kiss you again. “It doesn’t make sense that I want you this bad. What are you?”

“Everything you’re not,” it’s hard to lie when you’re high like this, “fragile and weak and ephemeral.” You wish he’d stop talking, you wish he’d touch you more so you wrap your ankles around his back and pull him towards you, your arms snaking around his shoulders.

You wish he’d stop questioning what he has right at his fingertips.

So you move for his pants. They’re tight, almost as tight as your clothes are, and you take your sweet fucking time popping the buttons, sliding the fabric down till it reaches his knees, and then you look up to meet his eyes again and he is so eager but so hesitant.

You grab his shoulders and push him down on the chair, climbing up after him immediately. There’s no time for you to reconsider anything at all as you sit on the tightness between his legs, and you let out a contented sigh when you feel his breath catch under you.

“Look at you,” you tell him when you look down on his bashful expression, “you’re quite shy for a sex demon.”  

He groans and rolls his hips, the friction almost a vibration with how heightened all of your senses are. You’re all too aware of the sweat forming on your skin, the musk radiating off of it and off of his skin, too, the hint of lemony sweetness in his hair, the way his chest moves when he heaves his breaths because you know he feels just as intensely as you.

“Don’t call me that,” he breathes, but his hands are too tight on your hips for his words to show he’s taken any actual offense, “that’s not what this is, this is different, you’re so pretty and I want you so bad, fuck.”

You grind on him again because you don’t know if you feel all of that just yet, and because you’re flattered and you’d like to ruin him at least a little bit before his true nature kicks in and he starts to fuck you up. That’s why you’re not surprised when you feel him push your skirt over your torso and rip your underwear off your body.

Eh, you never liked the pink lace, anyway.

Chanyeol pushes you back onto the desk and kneels in front of you, and he’s so fucking tall that even in this position his head fits all too nicely between your legs. He’s damn happy about it too, you can tell by the way he grabs your legs to put the backs of your knees over his shoulders before his breath starts to ghost in your inner thighs.

“Can you even feel how wet you are?” he modulates as if he was singing and it affects you a lot more than it should, especially when he starts to kiss up your thigh. “God, you look so fucking good right now”

You figure he doesn’t need encouragement, but you’ll give it anyway. “Touch me more.”

That he definitely does.

You don’t expect the firmness of his tongue against you, and your gasp comes like music to his ears, your hands on his hair are rough but he feels them feather light. He hums against your skin and you whimper, and he groans because he hasn’t even done much yet.

So he expects you to scream when he latches onto your clit, when his teeth graze the nub just lightly enough to make your entire body jolt.

Your grip on his hair tightens and so do the muscles in your thighs. You’ve half a mind to press them against either side of his head but you can’t get limbless now, you can’t give in just yet.

“Touch yourself,” you’re gasping but your voice is still demanding, still yours, and he moans against your skin and his nails graze the outside of your thighs. You grunt to hold back another squeal and lean back to rest your hands behind you, and you repeat the command when it’s been a whole ten seconds and he’s sucking on your clit hard enough to almost make you forget that you want to call the shots.

He only obeys when you start to buck your hips against his mouth.

It feels like he’s setting your every nerve on fire, the way he licks between your folds and sucks at the skin just for a moment, then presses the hardened tip of his tongue against your clit and sucks on it just for a moment, too, and he synchronises the process with the way one of his hands slides down his chest, lingers at his navel before it goes under his briefs to stroke at his growing erection.

You love that you’re high enough that you hear the rub of his palm on the skin of his cock as well as you can hear the heavy bass on the [s](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DA5hqcgdphBw&t=NzA3OGYwOWYzZDNkOTZmMjcxYzgyYjc3ZjBmNTJhODc2Njc5NmMwOCxYcUN0RWdsSw%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F151685673318%2Fapeiros-m&m=1)ong still playing at the bar, and despite the fact that you feel like you’re two seconds from losing every ounce of sanity you have left, you can’t help but look over at his fluttering eyes. You wonder if he’s as overloaded as he looks.

“Does it feel good?” you usually don’t like to talk, you prefer to feel, to be spoken to, but he looks so corruptible that you can’t help yourself. And he moans, the movement of his tongue slows so he can hear you better, feel you better, feel his own touch better.  

“Do you wish it was me touching you?”

Your hands go back to his hair, but they’re only there for a little bit before they snake down the nape of his neck and between his shoulder blades.

He actually shudders.

“It could be my mouth around your cock and not your hands,” you can’t believe you’re chuckling when he’s actually fucking you up like this, “shouldn’t I return the favour, after all?”

He hates how good you are at playing this game, and he sucks harder on your clit and brings around his free hand to get two fingers inside of you.

He sighs with relief when you yelp. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to pick up speed, for his mouth to match, or even for his hands to match, and he can hear your heartbeat quickening, your breathing faltering, your muscles tightening around his head.

“Oh, fuck, stop, don’t stop,” the curses start to flow out of your mouth just as your nails scratch at the skin between his shoulder blades, and you almost, almost forget yourself when you’re seconds away from the brink.

But you push his head away from you just in time to catch yourself.

You don’t know how but you get him completely naked and back on the chair in record time, and you only remember you’re still wearing a shirt and a bra and your skirt over your tits when you sit back on his cock and grind on him with complete spite.

He’s kind of mad about how in control you are, so he, too, makes quick work of lifting you, lining himself up against you, and pushing you back down. He also makes quick work of ripping your skirt off you, though he’s more gentle as he lifts your shirt over your head.

You moan when you feel the entirety of his length inside you, and instantly start to move to get back the tightness you’d gained on that desk.

It doesn’t take long.

His hands are still too rough on your hips, as is the way he has completely monopolised your movement so that you control the roll of them but nothing else, and he presses a hand against your tailbone to push your entire upper body against his own, just so he can suck a mark at the spot right between your breasts.

Then his free hand is moving for your bra, and he smiles when he finally gets it off you. You smile back, your hands almost feather light on his shoulder and around his neck.

“You’re glowing,” he tells you because he can’t control himself, he wonders if he drank a bit of the blood Kyungsoo fed you when he kissed you but he can’t be sure, maybe this is something else, maybe this is what his brothers and sisters always told him to stay away from.

Chanyeol finds that he doesn’t, frankly, give a single fuck.

It’s clear with the way he reaches up to kiss you, the way his free hand slides between your bodies (and the sweat that’s built up makes it all too easy) to swipe the pad of his middle finger on your clit in tiny little circles.

“Fuck,” and you don’t mean to moan but you do, clutching harder onto his skin because you’re starting to feel him and not just his body, taste him and not just his lips, touch him and not just his skin.

“Chanyeol,” you’re panting but you feel level when you look him in the eyes, when you read what’s written all over them. He looks so content to watch you chase that desire, he wants you to fall apart so badly that he looks happy, happy to make you feel like you’re being torn to pieces and put together again. “I’m so close,” and he can tell, he can tell with the way you’re squeezing your thighs around his legs, the way you’re tightening around him, and he can’t help but smile. “Are you with me?”

You don’t know where these fucking words are coming from, these fucking emotions, but it’s too late for you to deny that you feel more than you should, more than you ever should, for this Dumbo-eared stranger. You don’t know why, and you don’t care, either.  

“Only if you want me to be,” and it’s only then that you remember that incubi need permission to feel pleasure, since they’re technically only allowed to give it.

“Do you want it?”

He moans and lets the movement of your hips slow, lets the movement of his hands slow. “Yes, please, please.”

“Give in,” you say, and you don’t think twice, you don’t think at all, not even he finally releases your hips so you can chase that white heat you feel at the tips of your toes and it finally feels right. It feels right when your vision blacks out, when your lips land on his own and nothing good comes out of them, not the kisses and not the steady breaths of his name or the curses, it even feels right when he pulsates inside you, falls apart and then stops completely even though your hips are still grinding and his hands are still encouraging you.

It feels fucking perfect when his arms wrap around your waist, when his mouth splits from yours to kiss the crook of your neck almost innocently. It feels better yet when you smile all too chastely, when your chin lands on his shoulder and your arms wrap around him, too.

Mind, you’re still very naked. He’s still very much inside you. You’re both still very sweaty, very debauched, very flushed and very, very happy about it all.

“So,” you say, “if we sleep on the same bed, are you still going to show up to have sex with me in my dreams?”

He gives you a look that mixes mischief and curiosity, and he stands to his full height with his hands under your thighs.

“Wanna find out?”


End file.
